


the rose's thorn, or, beauty calls the enchantress forth to answer for her sins

by helleborehound



Series: refusing the rules [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, POV Female Character, Revisionist Fairy Tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:54:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helleborehound/pseuds/helleborehound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have no reason to remember me. As far as I know, our paths have never crossed. I am sure, however, that this place is familiar to you. A decade ago, you laid a curse upon this castle, its ruler, and all its inhabitants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the rose's thorn, or, beauty calls the enchantress forth to answer for her sins

Stop struggling.

I mean you no harm. Forgive my impertinence, but I require an audience.

I have laid a spell to mute your tongue; I would speak my piece without interruption. I apologise for the iron chains. I am fairly sure that you are not of the fair folk, but I trust you will excuse my caution.

You have no reason to remember me. As far as I know, our paths have never crossed. I am sure, however, that this place is familiar to you. A decade ago, you laid a curse upon this castle, its ruler, and all its inhabitants.

You forbade the castle’s inhabitants to speak of the curse of their own volition. As it turns out, they are not immune to careful questioning. The servants are invisible, not incorporeal, and I know well how to pinch a girl’s arm until it turns black and blue, even if it can’t be seen. I was born the youngest of three sisters. I know ways and means of obtaining answers in the face of reluctance.

Your Grace, Your Highness – what term of art do you prefer? No book on etiquette or statecraft in this vast library gives me your form of address. I understand that a decade ago, on a snowy night, the prince refused you hospitality and caused you great offence. I understand that you sought retribution. But what right did that grant you to punish him in a fashion that would also trouble innocent lives?

My father acted with the best of intentions.

We were raised in his absence, my sisters and I. As children, we were entrusted to nursemaids and tutors as he travelled to distant lands, tending to his ships and enriching the family coffers. We were left to fend for ourselves upon his bankruptcy, in the days and months when he was too overcome by shame and misery to leave his bed.

We knew, despite his outward rejoicing, that the ship at port was not our salvation. We knew what he owed to his debtors. He offered us gifts for his sake, not ours. That we might pretend that he had not been distant in times of plenty, and absent in our hour of need, that he had not failed us as a father. He knew, even as he asked, that his gifts were too little, too late.  
Something small, I told him. Something pretty, something sweet. I thought that he might return with spiced gingerbread, or marzipan fruits, or a brightly colored hair ribbon for the child I no longer was.

I did not imagine, that of all the details he might have remembered, that he would have seized upon a rose.

The servants, at my questioning, have told me that the prince’s sins were vanity and pride, that he was quick of tongue and short of temper. That he was unthinking and careless, but not given to cruelty or malice. Had a guest dared pluck a rose from his garden, it is unlikely that he would have even noted such a petty theft, let alone cared. A decade trapped in a castle, with none but invisible servants for company, has wrought a change in his behavior for the worse. See the rose revealed for what it is: a threadbare excuse.

I find it difficult to fault the beast for the bargain he struck with my father. All he knows is that he must marry to break his curse, and for marriage, he must have a maiden. He is desperate to leave his trap, and in his desperation, he would entrap me, too. Desperation makes knaves of us all.

It matters not if I would marry him, if I would be princess to his prince. I refuse a marriage under duress, out of guilt. All the same, I cannot find it in my heart to abandon him here, imprisoned and half-mad.

Know that while your power is great, your judgment is lacking. If you would teach a prince mercy, show him what it is to be bankrupt and in danger of the debtors’ prison. If you would teach a prince kindness, show him what it is to be hungry and penniless and begging for bread. If you would teach a prince love, show him what it is to tend to a bird or a hound that he has raised from birth and fed from his hand. Need I remind you that there are many forms of love, and not all of them between husband and wife?

The winters here are long and bitter, and the library rich and vast. Did you know that it contains many volumes of powerful lore? Did you know that with enough careful study, it is possible to learn witchcraft, enchantment, and sorcery from grimoires alone?

I concede that I am not powerful enough to break the enchantment upon the beast, or the castle. Yours is a rich and spectacular sorcery, my lady. But I have learned varied and immutable transformations of my own.

I will grant you one chance to undo the damage you have wrought. Should you object – well. Let me ask you this: do you know what kind of game the beast likes to hunt?

Would you care to learn?


End file.
